


Wide Awake

by lastincurableromantic



Series: The Slow Path [5]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sex, F/M, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-11 07:32:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastincurableromantic/pseuds/lastincurableromantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Companion piece to Dreaming in Color. Rose begins to suspect that the telepathic link between the two Doctors is still active.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to Dreaming in Color, written in the first person from Rose's point of view. Dreaming in Color should be read first, otherwise some of this story might not make sense. It is also loosely associated with my Slow Path 'verse, but you don't have to read the others in the series for this to make sense or vice versa. As far as placement in the series, it runs parallel to both Dreaming in Color and Entanglement.
> 
> Many thanks to Spookyknight for encouraging me to write this story.

**Wide Awake**

**Part One**

In hindsight, I always knew. Even before I knew, even before I realized it was even possible, I somehow knew deep down. There was something in the way he held me, something in the way that he kissed me that was different somehow when _he_ was there.

And of course I didn’t really _know_. Not at the beginning. Not consciously at any rate. I didn't _really_ know until later.

We had been together in Pete’s World a couple months by then. It had been a bit of a rocky start for the first week or so, but we managed to put the beach behind us and rediscover the joy of purely being together, before we were even _together_.

And then when we actually came together… After being separated for so long and longing for each other for years even before that, it would have been incredible even if it had been lousy.

But it hadn’t been lousy.

Far, far, _far_ from it. 

That first time we made love we were so overcome with emotion—with happiness, with giddiness, with the joy of reuniting and the joy of uniting for the first time—that we both cried. Even just thinking about it still makes me cry.

And there was something about finally crossing that barrier with me that unleashed something in him: an acceptance of his new part humanity. Sexuality hadn’t been a normal part of his life as a Time Lord, not for most of his very, very long life, and like with all new experiences for him, he embraced it enthusiastically.

We made love everywhere: in bed, in the bath, in the shower, on the kitchen table, on the sofa at home, on the sofa at work, in the storage cupboard at work… It was as if we were making up for lost time, and the higher the chance of us getting caught, the more exciting it became.

But occasionally it was different. He was different. His kisses were more… desperate than passionate. They were feverish. Almost frenzied. And he made love with a fervor that bordered on frantic. 

I chalked it up to flashbacks of our separation and the mood swings he still occasionally had as a result of the meta-crisis. And it wasn’t as if I was all that different. When I thought about our years apart I still sometimes felt desperate and frantic as well.

It wasn’t until I found out about their link that even an inkling of the truth began to cross into my conscious mind.

Of course, since it was us, when I found out it was in the middle of a crisis that threatened the government and turned out to be the beginnings of an alien invasion. He let a comment slip, just a tiny, silly little thing, that only the other Doctor could have told him, and only via a telepathic link—and only after we had already been left here.

I was furious. Oh, not about the link—if I had thought about it I should have expected that they’d have one, at least for a little while—but about the fact that he didn’t tell me about it. 

Later, the first chance we had, the first time we had a minute to ourselves, we talked, really talked. He told me they had had some telepathic contact at first, when we had first been left here, but they hadn't had any for a while. And then I asked the question that had been plaguing me for weeks.

"Doctor, was he…?" My voice broke, and I couldn't continue the thought.

He stilled. "Was he alright?" he finished for me after a moment.

"Yeah,” I said softly.

He didn't answer right away. He was clearly debating what to tell me, and I tensed up, expecting him to lie to me again. He finally decided on honesty, which was both a relief and a sharp knife to the gut.

"Let's put it this way," he said. "He was traveling alone and had been alone for a while. And we never do well alone."

I flashed back to Bad Wolf Bay, the first time we had been there. It had torn me apart when I realized he was all alone. And now he had given us this beautiful life together, and as a result he was alone again. And it felt like my heart was ripped out all over again.

And I knew my Doctor felt the same way.

~oOo~

It was after that that I really noticed a difference, how sometimes when we made love it was more intense between us. Not that it wasn’t always intense; there was just a slight difference that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. 

And honestly, I don’t think my Doctor noticed it, not for a while at any rate. They had been the same man, and although they were separate people now, it hadn’t been long enough for them to really diverge. They still were too similar; their brain patterns had to be the same way. 

And the Doctor had always said I knew him better than he knew himself.

At first, when I first began to believe that occasionally when my Doctor and I were making love _he_ was also there, I was beyond angry. I was livid. Absolutely livid. How dare he intrude on an intimate moment like that, particularly when we had never been intimate like that ourselves. But discussing it with my Doctor when we were in the middle of making love… I just couldn’t do it. And then afterwards, I still couldn’t. We were still struggling with communication issues ourselves, and that was a huge, uncomfortable topic. Besides, what if I was wrong? I knew my Doctor was still a bit jealous of him, at least where I was concerned. How could I admit I was thinking about _him_ in any capacity at all while we were making love?

Nope. It was not happening, I decided. Not then, and possibly not ever.

After I got over my initial anger, I became worried about him. I knew that more than anyone he shouldn’t be alone. His own people were gone; even if he hadn’t gotten along with them, they had been a comforting presence in the back of his mind. Now, without anyone to travel with, I knew that he was completely alone.

Despite him “visiting us”, I wasn’t so full of myself that I believed I was the only one he missed. Sometime after I met Sarah Jane he had told me he missed everyone, everyone he had ever traveled with, but eventually I realized it was even more than that. With the meta-crisis, this incarnation had been split, ripped in two, and he was missing part of himself. With part of his very self gone, he had to be a little unstable. My Doctor had me to lean on, but being alone he had no one.

~oOo~

It was shortly after that, shortly after the realization that he was unstable and needing us, both of us, that I caught a glimpse of him.

We were in bed, making love, and my Doctor was going down on me. Something we both really, really enjoyed. Not only did I love the feel of his mouth on me—his incredibly talented tongue on my clit and his long, slender fingers deep inside of me, reaching spots I hadn’t even realized I had before him—but I loved the noises he made. Before the meta-crisis I knew his sense of taste was more acute than that of humans, and even afterwards, even after he became part human, that sense was still beyond what humans experienced.

And from the noises he always made I knew he loved the taste of me. 

But beyond all that, I loved watching him. Loved seeing his head between my legs. Loved seeing his face, his eyes half-closed in bliss while feeling his sideburns brush against my inner thighs.

This time was no different. I was close, so very close, almost overwhelmed with the feeling of his lips and teeth and tongue and fingers, the feeling of his hard cock brushing against my calf as he rutted against the mattress, and the sound of him moaning in pleasure. 

He backed off for a moment, simply kissing me, teasing me as he sometimes did, knowing that if he brought me to the brink without letting me go over the edge the payoff would be that much better for both of us when I finally did come.

But I was so close this time. 

I looked down at him, intending to protest, and our eyes met. And in the eyes of my Doctor I saw _him_.

It was him, I was sure of it. What I wasn’t sure of was whether he knew I knew he was there.

The intensity of the moment between us became too much. I looked away and then quickly became lost in sensation, feeling a heightened excitement in knowing he was there, they were both there making love to me. It was incredible. But by the time it was over he was gone, and part of me wondered if I had imagined the whole thing.

But I decided then and there that if he needed us so much that he might be telepathically crossing universes to be with us, I’d be there for him.


	2. Part Two

**Part Two**

It continued that way for months. Usually _he_ would visit us every week or so, although occasionally it was more often and once almost three weeks passed between visits.

But even though it had been months for us, who knew how long it had been for him? He could have been visiting us every day from his perspective, or years could have passed.

Of course I couldn't be 100% sure that any of it was actually happening, that he was really there mentally and it wasn't all just a figment of my imagination. It wasn't like he said, "By the way, Rose and other me, I'm here with you right now while you're having sex; please carry on with what you're doing while I watch and take part telepathically."

Although for all I knew at the time he had had that conversation with my Doctor without me being aware of it. After all, how would I know? But I tended to doubt it.

And of course it wasn't like he was there every time we were _dancing_. Despite not being married, we were still basically in our honeymoon period, usually having sex multiple times a day, unless of course there was an alien crisis we had to attend to. (Although after those, things got really interesting. Well, we did have to burn off all that adrenalin…)

But even though I hadn't talked about it with my Doctor, over time I became more and more convinced I was right. Not only were things slightly different sexually, but sometimes afterwards I noticed my Doctor rubbing his right hand. His fully Time Lord hand. Now that could have been a coincidence as well; occasionally he was quite… vigorous… in manually stimulating me. It could have just been cramping on him. But he had told me once that when he had been on the receiving end of telepathic contact with _him_ , the nerve endings of his Time Lord hand would be irritated. Something about being a touch telepath and his hand acting as sort of a receiver for their link across universes. And the more the other was projecting, the more upset _he_ was, the more his hand would hurt.

Oddly, he didn't seem to notice when he was kneading the muscles of his hand. Sometimes he did it in his sleep as well. Sometimes I'd wake up in the middle of the night only to hear him muttering in his sleep, rubbing his hand or cradling his arm as he tossed and turned. I could always get him to quiet by holding him or spooning him from behind. I didn't often ask him about his dreams, because he usually was evasive, telling me he didn't remember them when I knew he did. I couldn't call him on it though, because I was having a few bad dreams of my own and wasn't sharing them with him.

But that's another story entirely.

~oOo~

"Rose, Rose. Time to wake up."

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, gently shaking my shoulder. I groaned, barely conscious and not wanting to remain so. Last night had been long and difficult, trying to negotiate a peace treaty between the Leonine Rasakoths and the Canidine Rosikans, two longstanding enemies from adjacent planets on the far side of the galaxy. For some reason we didn't quite understand, they had decided Earth was the only suitable neutral territory for their negotiations, but instead of working through what Torchwood considered proper channels, their ambassadors got drunk in a dodgy pub and it came to blows.

My Doctor and I stepped in, barely avoiding thrown punches, and somehow arranged a treaty between them, using his language skills and my ability to flirt. Maybe his ability to flirt as well; I hadn't been quite clear on that since our drinking with them was one of the requirements of the treaty. Then we had been up even later burning off adrenalin, first in the storage cupboard in the pub, then in bed at home.

"Go 'way," I muttered crossly. " 'M tired. And hung over." I pulled whatever covers I could reach completely over my head.

"It's your own fault," he replied. "You shouldn't have had that shot of – " He said something that I couldn't understand, couldn't even hear all the syllables to, but I knew what he meant. One of the ambassadors, the one that resembled a lion I think, had pulled a bottle of some sort of fluorescent turquoise liquid out of his pocket and insisted we all take a swig. "Humans can't metabolize it properly."

I pulled the covers down off my face and glared at him. "I had to drink it. It was part of the treaty," I retorted, and then winced. "Besides, you drank it too. And got drunk."

"Still part Time Lord," he said smugly, and I wanted to hit him with something. As a part human, he could get drunk now, but as he was still part Time Lord, he didn't stay that way long. And had no hangovers. Sometimes I hated him.

I pulled the covers back over my head, and he pulled them off. He handed me a small orange pill and a full glass of water. The pill was a hangover remedy, developed by Torchwood and Doctor-improved. The only problem with it was it required an hour of sleep to work, so I usually avoided it. But I needed to be functional today so this time I took it. Afterwards, I dropped my head back down on my pillow.

"Go back to sleep," he urged, touching my temple lightly with his fingertips. "I'll shower first. Then by the time I'm done, you should feel better."

I began to drift off again, wondering vaguely if he had given me a telepathic suggestion to sleep. Again. If he keeps doing this, I'm gonna have to kill him, I thought, and then fell sound asleep.

When I awoke, the shower was off and I could hear him in the en suite. I was feeling much, much better and decidedly in the mood. Grinning with anticipation, I got up and joined him in the bathroom.

"Are you going to be in here all day?" I asked in mock-seriousness.

He turned to me, only to quickly glance away. Which was odd. Odd because I was wearing one of his favorite outfits, an off-white lacy vest and matching knickers, and he usually stared at me in it. And drooled.

"Just finishing up," he told me.

"I have to get ready, too, you know," I said, "and I haven't even showered yet. Although…" I gave him a cheeky grin and continued seductively, "You _could_ join me."

"I've already showered," he answered, still not looking at me.

"So? It wouldn't be the first time you showered twice."

How dense could he be? I crossed over to him, rested my chin on his shoulder and gave him _the look_. The one that never, ever failed me. The one that made him always cave in to whatever I wanted. He had once laughingly called it my superpower, able to stop a Time Lord with a single glance, but I knew that there was a lot of truth to that. I didn't use it often—that wouldn't be fair to him and could potentially lessen its impact—but I thought that since what I wanted was what he _always_ wanted, it would be fine to use it this time.

"You could scrub my back, and I could scrub yours. Not to mention anything else you wanted me to… scrub."

His reaction was weird. He looked down at the counter and began to put toothpaste on his toothbrush.

"Maybe later," he said.

Definitely weird. Not only had the look not worked, but he had turned me down. He had _never_ turned down a blow job in the shower before. In fact, he had never turned down a blow job before.

"Alright," I said, both disappointed and puzzled. I began to pull off my top.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm gonna take a shower," I said slowly. Honestly, for a self-proclaimed genius, sometimes he could really be slow on the uptake.

"But I'm still in here," he said.

I stared at him. "So?" I began to pull off my top again, and he stopped me.

"Wait," he said quickly. "Before you do that, would you mind making us some tea? By the time you finish, I'll be done in here."

"Alright," I agreed grudgingly. "But you'd better be. I don't want to be late again because you couldn't decide what to do with your hair."

"Rose Tyler, we _never_ were late because…" He turned back to me and realized I was teasing him. He rolled his eyes. "I'll be down in a minute."

I gave him a quick kiss and left, stopping in the bedroom to pull on a short dressing gown before heading to the kitchen. I was halfway down the stairs when I heard his voice. I stopped, trying to listen just in case he was calling me back, but I couldn't make out what he was saying. I inwardly shrugged. He talked to himself a lot; it was just as well, since he was the only person who could understand what he was talking about half the time.

I had just gotten down to the kitchen when he began to yell and then cry out in pain. I rushed back, calling out to him.

"Doctor? Doctor, are you alright?"

"Yes," he answered as soon as I appeared in the doorway. "Why do you ask?"

He gave me a wide grin that wouldn't fool anyone. "I heard you yell all the way from the kitchen," I said.

"Oh!" He shook his head. "That was nothing. Wasn't looking where I was going and hit my head on the door." He rubbed at a spot on the side of his head. "Just a bit startled by it is all."

"Didn't sound like you were just a bit startled. Let me see." I stood on my tiptoes while he bent down to let me look. "I don't see anything…"

"That's because I'm fine. Honestly. Absolutely fine."

I frowned. "Are you sure? That was an awfully loud yell."

"Rose. Really, completely, one hundred percent fit as a fiddle. Now why don't you head back downstairs and I'll meet you there just as soon as I've finished shaving."

"Alright, but don't be too long or the tea's gonna be cold."

Once back downstairs, I plugged in the kettle. As the water heated, I set the table and pulled out things for breakfast: fruit, muffins, sugar. The kettle began to boil, and I decided for a change of pace I'd actually make tea, not just use tea bags, since the Doctor had always liked it better that way. I warmed the tea pot and the mugs by filling them with hot water from the tap, dumped it out, then filled the pot with the water heated almost to boiling in the kettle, measured out the correct amount of tea leaves, and let it brew.

I had just about finished with everything and was pulling the milk jug out of the refrigerator when I heard him enter the room.

I turned and gave him a bright smile.

And he grinned back.

He crossed the room to stand at my side, took the milk out of my hands, and set it on the counter. He pulled me into a tight hug, and I hugged him back, closing my eyes and inhaling deeply his clean, Doctor-y smell, the smell I liked best in the universe. Any universe.

He buried his face in my hair. "I missed you," he whispered, so softly I almost didn't hear him.

And then I knew. This wasn't my Doctor. It was _him_.


	3. Part Three

**Part Three**

_He crossed the room to stand at my side, took the milk out of my hands, and set it on the counter. He pulled me into a tight hug, and I hugged him back, closing my eyes and inhaling deeply his clean, Doctor-y smell, the smell I liked best in the universe. Any universe._

_He buried his face in my hair. "I missed you," he whispered, so softly I almost didn't hear him._

_And then I knew. This wasn't my Doctor. It was him._

No, I told myself. It couldn't be. How could it be _him_? _Why_ would it be _him_? In all the time that I had suspected him of visiting us, he had never actually spoken to me.

"You just saw me five minutes ago," I said automatically. I felt him tense up but so briefly that I wouldn't have noticed it if I hadn't been looking for something like that.

I pulled far enough away from him to look him in the eye, hoping to see some confirmation, some evidence one way or the other which Doctor was standing in front of me. I couldn't tell. For a split second I almost put my hand on his chest to feel his singular heart under my palm. But that was crazy. Regardless which Doctor it was, the body that was in front of me was part human. I found myself smiling at him as I laughed inwardly at myself. This whole situation was ludicrous.

And then I noticed something else. "And what were you doing up there anyway?"

"Why do you ask?" He sounded evasive, or perhaps it was my imagination.

"Well, you said you were going to finish getting ready," I reminded him, "but you didn't shave."

His hand flew up to his face. "Oh, must have forgotten."

"That's not like you," I said.

"Oh! Breakfast!" he said brightly. "I smell tea!"

It was a clear attempt to distract me, and that alone was enough to convince me that if nothing else, he was hiding something.

It did occur to me that I could just ask him what was going on, but I doubted it would help. One thing that always drove me spare in all the years I had been with the Doctor, first in traveling with him in the TARDIS (both before and after his regeneration), and now living with him in Pete's World, was the fact that with important things, personal things, I only rarely could get a straight answer out of him. Information usually came out in dribs and drabs, at unexpected times and rarely as a result of direct questioning. Over time he had shared a great deal of himself with me, probably more than he had with anyone else in centuries, but it didn't come naturally to him. He never told me about regeneration, not until he was in the middle of regenerating at any rate, he didn't tell me about the people he had previously traveled with – and how close he had gotten to them – until we saw Sarah Jane, and the first I had heard that he had been a father was as a quiet comment he made while we were investigating the disappearances of children, not as a result of a heart to heart talk. Since then he had said he'd try to do better, but old habits die hard, particularly if they are more than nine hundred years old.

Unfortunately, even after all this time with him I was more likely to figure out what was going on by watching him and listening to what he was, and wasn't, saying than by direct confrontation.

As I got the jug of milk from the counter, he sat down at the table. I sat next to him and watched him as he poured his tea. In an effort to figure out the truth about what was going on here, I knew I had to keep my emotions out of this, and somewhere between adding the milk and pouring probably a third of a cup of sugar into his mug, my mind automatically switched to Torchwood field agent mode.

"Mmmm," he said after taking a sip. He took another and smiled. "Mmm, this is really good. I had forgotten—"

"Forgotten what?" I asked.

He cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. "Forgotten how good your tea could be," he answered. He wouldn't meet my eyes, but he didn't look like he was lying. He looked embarrassed.

All of a sudden I remembered he had told me he had hit his head on the door in the bathroom. A hit on the head could explain everything, I told myself. Maybe it really wasn't _him_ after all. "Blimey, how hard did you hit your head? Are you sure you're alright?"

"You're right! My head does hurt a bit." He rubbed the spot he had shown me earlier. "Not a lot, but just enough to be distracting."

"Maybe you should stay home," I said. "There's nothing really pressing for you to do today. I can handle things at work."

"No!" he exclaimed, perhaps a little too quickly. "I mean, yes, I should probably stay home, but you should too."

Now I was getting worried. If he was, well, _him_ , he could be faking an injury. But if he truly was my Doctor, he could really be hurt, and I didn't know how even a minor head injury could affect a part human Time Lord.

"If you're feeling that bad," I told him, "maybe you should come in and get it checked out."

"No, that's not necessary," he said. "Really. I just mean, maybe you could stay home too. We could spend some time alone together. Just the two of us. Like we used to, before… well, you know." He reached out and took my hand. "Of course we've spent a lot of time together since then, of course we have, but it doesn't make up for all the time we were apart. We were just separated so long…"

And we had been. If he was my Doctor, despite the months we had been together here on Pete's World, we had been so busy with Torchwood we hadn't spent enough time alone together to suit us. And the truth was, it would never be enough time. Not for me, and I knew not for him either.

And if he was _him_ …

God, if it's _him_ , what do I do?

I plastered on a bright smile. "Yeah, alright," I said. "That'd be nice. I just have to make a phone call. Who knows, they'll probably be glad the boss isn't coming in. I'll just go get my mobile and be right back. Don't wait to eat for me." I suddenly noticed he had already finished one muffin and had started on a second. He grinned at me, his mouth full of food. I rolled my eyes. "Never mind, look who I'm talking to."

I walked calmly out of the room, but once in the hall I raced upstairs.

Since traveling with the Doctor, I had faced Daleks and Cybermen, had led teams in Torchwood, and had traveled across universes. I wasn't one to panic.

But thinking of the man sitting in my kitchen, I was panicking now.

Which Doctor was he?

As I ran our conversation through my head, I paced the bedroom back and forth, running my hands through my hair, a habit I had evidently picked up from my Doctor. But everything I thought of, every word, every look, could be explained away by a hit on the head. But then on one pass through the room, I stopped and stared in front of me. In front of me was the door to the en suite.

The en suite. He hadn't been talking to himself in the en suite. He had been arguing with himself. Well, his other self. And _before_ he had supposedly hit his head. And then when I had come back to ask him about his yelling, he had covered it up by lying to me about injuring himself.

Oh my God, I had been right.

It was _him_ downstairs. Somehow it was _him_.

And my Doctor knew he was here.

Oh, God, what do I do? What do I do?

I took a deep breath. One thing at a time, I told myself. First things first. Ring work and tell them I'm not going to be there.

As I had predicted, they sounded happy I wasn't coming in. In fact, delighted actually was more accurate. It was late autumn and storms were predicted, so they expected the day to be quiet anyway.

Okay. That was one problem solved.

But I couldn't go downstairs again until I knew what I was going to do. Nor could I just hide up here all day.

Shower. I was gonna take a shower, and maybe by the time I was done I'd have figured out what to do.

But my mind was on overload.

I must have gotten undressed and turned on the water without consciously realizing it because the next thing I knew I was in the shower, hot water pouring over me from above. As I began to wash, my thoughts continued to race.

Even when I'd begun to suspect him of visiting us telepathically, never in my wildest dreams had this scenario occurred to me. After he had left us on the beach, I had come to terms with the fact that I'd never see _him_ again. Well, I'm still not seeing him, I reminded myself; he may be here mentally, but he's using my Doctor's body.

Oh my God, I thought, beginning to panic again. If _he's_ here, where's my Doctor?

My mind spun out of control with possibilities, each more horrific than the last, based on things I had encountered while traveling and during my years at Torchwood: soul compression, possession, body snatching…

Stop it, I told myself firmly. The Doctor wouldn't do any of that. He wouldn't forcibly take over my Doctor's body.

But that meant…

I froze as the implications of that passed through my mind.

That meant that on some level, for some unknown reason my Doctor had to have agreed to this, or at least allowed for it to happen.

And neither of them told me.

Neither of them wanted me to know.

"Shit, shit, shit!" I said loudly, slamming the palm of my hand against the tile wall.

Right now I wanted to slap him. Both of him.

I was absolutely, blindingly furious. What on Earth, any Earth in any universe, could make them think that this was somehow a good idea? There were only two reasons I could think of that would explain why he wouldn't have told me.

The first was to protect himself from my reaction. Was he worried I'd reject him? I might slap him hard enough to do my mum proud, hard enough to send him back to the other universe, but I had crossed universes to be with him. I wouldn't reject him, and he had to know that.

But the second was that he was trying to protect me from getting hurt.

The longer I thought about that the angrier I got. I hated him lying to me, I hated him trying to protect me, and I hated him making decisions for me, and in one fell swoop he was doing all three.

I shut off the water, grabbed a towel, and stalked into the bedroom, not caring that I was dripping all over the floor. I had to confront him, I thought as I dried off. I had to. There was no other choice.

Decision made, I quickly got dressed, dried my hair and pulled it back, and then walked out of the bedroom.

But I stopped near the top of the stairs. He was standing next to the fireplace, looking at a photo of my Doctor and me that had been taken at the last Vitex bash. When he heard me he turned, and I saw something briefly cross his face.

It was the same look he had given me when he had first seen me in London before the meta-crisis, right before he had been shot by the Dalek. It was full of longing and love and disbelief that I was standing in front of him.

And my heart filled up with love for him.

And all thoughts of confronting him disappeared.


	4. Part Four

**Part Four**

I stood at the top of the stairs, staring at the Doctor's face. There was such love in it, I didn't have the heart to confront him, to start a row that would undoubtedly lead to him disappearing.

Here was my chance, my chance to actually spend some time with him: no Daleks, no Davros, no end of the multiverse. And it might be my last chance, my last chance to spend time with the other half of the love of my life, and my last chance to say a proper goodbye to him.

Did I really want to waste it arguing?

Because I knew deep down him being here with me like this wouldn't happen again.

And I suddenly realized that the Doctor needed it as well. For his own reasons - loneliness over losing everyone and losing part of himself as well as other reasons I couldn't begin to imagine - he needed us. Needed me. And needed his own chance to properly say goodbye. The man who hated goodbyes, who never looked back, needed this for some reason. That was why my Doctor had allowed this to happen. Allowed _him_ control of his body.

And despite my teasing him about being thick sometimes, my Doctor wasn't stupid. He had to know that I might figure it out. And on the off chance that I did, even though he still was occasionally jealous of my feelings for the other Doctor, I was certain my Doctor wanted _me_ to have a chance to say goodbye to _him_ as well.

All those thoughts passed through my mind in less than an instant only to be replaced by wondering how I should handle the situation. They had not wanted me to know that the man in front of me was _him_. So I didn't know, I decided. I'd let them believe that they had fooled me and act just as I would if that were my Doctor in front of me.

As I walked down to the lounge, the look on the Doctor's face disappeared and changed to one that was a combination of puzzlement and disappointment.

"What?" I asked.

"You… you showered," he answered.

"Yeah. Told you I needed one."

"It's just…" His voice broke off, and when he began again, he lowered his voice, trying to sound seductive, but now that I knew it was _him_ , I could tell it was a put-on. "It's just that I seem to recall that you wanted me to scrub your back."

He really didn't know how to do it, I thought. I wasn't surprised. It had taken my Doctor weeks to perfect sounding seductive without also sounding uncomfortable or silly.

And although I really didn't want the Doctor to be traveling alone, one tiny, well actually not so tiny, part of me was relieved that he still didn't know how to act that way. It meant he hadn't been practicing being seductive with anyone else.

"And I seem to recall you turning me down," I said teasingly.

"Later, I said," he answered. "I distinctly said later. And it is later than it was."

I crossed over to him and wrapped my arms around his neck, and he wrapped his around my waist, pulling me closer. That was alright, I thought. We always used to hug.

"I thought we were staying home because you hit your head and weren't feeling well."

"Well," he drawled, "I'm not feeling _that_ bad."

"Really," I said, making it clear with my tone of voice that I wasn't surprised.

I'm not sure what possessed me, whether it was an attempt to demonstrate that I had been fooled into believing that he was my Doctor, or whether it was just the fact that I had wanted to do it for so long. But I pulled him down for a kiss.

It was supposed to just be a brief press of the lips, but that's not how it turned out.

I don't know who changed it, it might have even been me, but the kiss turned slow and soft, his lips moving against mine gently but with an undercurrent of passion tightly reined. When it ended, I was breathless and my heart was pounding. I began to giggle, and he asked me why. But I couldn't tell him I was giddy because he was here with me.

Instead I told him what I would have told my Doctor.

"'S just, even though it's been months, sometimes I still can't believe that we're back together. And that we do this."

"This?"

"Snog," I said. "Shag." I gave him a cheeky grin, but he answered me seriously.

"Me neither," he said. "And I'd… I'd like to do more."

It might have been odd, but I wanted him to know that if he was going to pretend to be my Doctor, he was going to have to do a better job of it.

"Are you sure you're alright, Doctor? You're definitely acting weird today."

"In what way?" he asked, sounding overly casual, and I could tell he was not only curious about how my Doctor normally acted around me, but how to duplicate it.

"When you want to kiss me, you usually don't talk about it," I told him. "Usually you just do it."

He gave me a lopsided grin and pulled me in for another kiss, but then we were interrupted by my stomach growling.

I sighed. That was typical, I thought. While we were traveling, every time he had looked like he was going to kiss me we'd be interrupted by something or other. And now my own stomach was betraying me.

With breakfast now a priority, for me at any rate, I went to the kitchen and loaded up a tray to heaping with all kinds of food, knowing that whatever I didn't eat, he would.

Within minutes we were settled on the sofa, a blanket over our laps, a roaring fire in the fireplace, and a Disney movie, _The Great Mouse Detective_ , on telly. Between bites he told me about how he'd met the actual Sherlock Holmes and solved a crime for him, and then encouraged Arthur Conan Doyle to fictionalize it. Even though I'd heard the story before, it was actually more interesting than the movie, which I had seen a version of when I was growing up, and this particular version countless times with Tony. Despite my initial reaction to Sarah Jane, I loved hearing about his travels before he met me, before the Time War had ripped him apart.

After the movie ended, we couldn't decide on another one right away. He began flipping through the channels, watching a few minutes of each movie that came on in order to decide if it was interesting enough to him to continue with, and talking constantly about each one's parallel version and how it was the same, or different, than the Pete's World version. 

Eventually he came across one that had a submarine in it. It was based on a true story: a Russian sub that had become stuck under an ice shelf and had had no chance of rescue and in which the entire crew had died. He fell silent and sat forward, elbows on knees, staring intently as the events unfolded on the screen, and I knew something was wrong. He looked troubled; something similar must have happened to him. And recently, too, otherwise I was certain my Doctor would have told me about it by now. I gently removed the remote control from his hands and changed to a movie I knew my Doctor liked, a movie based on a famous Agatha Christie novel.

The tension drained from his body, and he leaned backwards, resting his back against the sofa. I wrapped my arm around his shoulders and squeezed, and he smiled at me, looking at me in gratitude. I smiled back at him before resting my head on his shoulder, and he began to talk again, this time about how brilliant Agatha Christie was and how he and Donna had met her.

We stayed that way for hours, snuggled under a blanket watching movies, the fire going in the fireplace while outside the temperature dropped and the wind picked up. If I closed my eyes, the years since the battle of Canary Wharf fell away. I could imagine we were back in the TARDIS in the media room, watching movies from the year 43,752, or back at my mum's flat, watching Cliff Richard with her on a bank holiday.

At some point I popped some popcorn for us to munch on while we watched an absolutely horrible sci fi movie. Every time something ridiculous came on, an especially corny line or some bit of the horrible special effects, we grabbed some of the popcorn and threw it at the screen. Eventually, when the bowl was empty, we looked down to realize half of what I had popped lay scattered on the floor. We looked at each other and burst out laughing.

After the movie was over, I realized my muscles were cramping from sitting so long. I threw off the blanket and got up to stretch, looking through the wide window behind the sofa.

"'S raining."

He nodded as he flipped through the movie listings again. "Thought it would. How about _The Slime Monster from Surrey_ next?"

"Nope," I said. "You picked the last one. Now it's my turn."

By now I was in the mood for something different, so I picked _The Call for Freedom_. It was a historical romance, paralleling the end of the monarchy here with one of its last princes who fell in love with a commoner and wanted the freedom to marry her. I had seen it before and knew it was really well done; given the Doctor's interest in history, I thought he might enjoy it.

As the rain began to come down in earnest, I began to hear the roll of distant thunder and see the occasional flash of lightning. I'm not afraid of thunderstorms, not after all I've been through, but I did feel a sudden chill, although whether it was real or imagined I didn't know. When the movie had begun we had settled back down on the sofa with the blanket over us, and he had put his arm around me again, so I snuggled into his side, pulled the blanket up to my shoulders and buried my nose in the crook of his neck.

I could feel him hum contentedly, and he turned and kissed my forehead. Our eyes met, and I was certain he was going to kiss me.

Unfortunately a bolt of lightning and clap of thunder almost directly overhead shook the whole house, and the power went out. It was black as pitch outside, and the only light was from the fire in the fireplace. He stared at me; his face was in the shadows, but I could still see the intensity of his gaze in his eyes. I giggled, a little nervously, almost like a girl on her first date.

"With no telly, now what'll we do?" I asked, my voice coming out lower and more seductive than I intended.

I think.

But maybe not, because I returned to nuzzling his neck.

And then I began to kiss him.


	5. Part Five

**Part Five**

_"With no telly, now what'll we do?" I asked, my voice coming out lower and more seductive than I intended._

_I think._

_But maybe not, because I returned to nuzzling his neck._

_And then I began to kiss him._

His unshaven jaw and neck were a pleasant roughness under my lips as I kissed his jawline. He sighed and tilted his head, and I took advantage of it, moving my lips to his throat.

"I don't know," he said absently. I could see his eyes fall shut as he responded to me. "I was kind of interested in seeing what happened."

"The monarchy was overthrown," I told him between kisses, "and they all moved to America."

"And what happened to–who was it?" Although he had started the conversation, he no longer seemed interested in it. To be fair, I hadn't been interested in it from the beginning.

"Prince Rupert and Cecily?" I asked.

"Uh, uh huh," he answered.

"Instead of telling you, why don't I show you?" I moved to straddle his lap and then wrapped my arms around his neck. "Let's see, first I think Cecily did this..." I dropped my head to gently suck on his pulse point. "Then I think she did this…" I moved my mouth to gently nip at his Adam's apple. He softly moaned. "Then I think she…"

I moved in to kiss him, and he pulled me closer, tightly enough that I could feel that he was already hard. I had to bite off a moan of my own. He deepened the kiss, and I opened my mouth under his, allowing him to gently suck each of my lips in turn between his. My heart pounded as I lost the ability to think at the touch of his tongue on mine.

After several long, fantastic moments, he pulled away and met my eyes.

"Rose, I…" he began but then broke off. "I…"

He looked at me pleadingly, as if he was willing me to understand what he couldn't say. And maybe I did.

"'S alright. I know," I said, now willing him to understand _me_. I know who you are, I thought to myself. And I know how you feel. Deep down, I've always known. 

His eyes widened in shock. "You do?"

"Of course. You don't have to say it," I told him. "And I love _you_ too. Have done ever since I met you."

He whispered my name and then suddenly I found myself on my back on the sofa with him hovering over me. "I love you, so much. And I always have."

Our eyes met, and I saw something in him. For just a second I saw a flash of my Doctor behind his eyes. Just as I had recognized this Doctor within the eyes of mine, I now recognized mine within his gaze. In that moment they were both here, and I could see love for me from both of them reflected in a single pair of eyes.

And that was the moment I understood something that I didn't think either of them understood. They hadn't just _been_ the same man. They were _still_ the same man. Two sides of a coin. One healed and one still broken. They might now have different bodies and be in different universes, but they weren't parallel Doctors or twins or brothers. They were still the same man.

And they were both my Doctor.

The Doctor lowered his head and kissed me. It was far, far too brief before he pulled away again.

"Say it again," he said, staring at me intently.

I smiled at him. "I love you," I told him.

He shook his head. "No," he said. "All of it. Say all of it."

I was puzzled. Hadn't he understood that when I told him I loved him that I meant him too? That I meant both of them? "I don't know what you mean."

"Say it!" He sounded both demanding and desperate, and I couldn't remember exactly what I had said to him that he wanted to hear again.

And then I knew. He _hadn't_ understood. He still needed to know I loved all of him. And it broke my heart to realize that somehow he wasn't sure of it anymore.

I cupped his face and looked intently at him. "I've always loved you, ever since I met you."

He closed his eyes, taking in my words, and I could see the tension within him release.

He said my name, and then he was everywhere: his lips were on mine, his knees between my thighs, his hand on my breast. I returned passion with passion, deepening the kiss and pulling him even closer. But it wasn't enough, not by half.

He evidently agreed, because suddenly our shirts were on the floor and my breast was in his mouth. He flicked and sucked and nipped; he was absolutely brilliant at this, I thought as I gave myself over to sensation. I was close, so close, just from this. Intense pleasure began to spread outwards, and I cried out...

And he misunderstood.

He immediately began to back off and apologize. But I was having none of that. Swearing under my breath, I grabbed handfuls of his hair and held him in place.

"God, don't stop!" I protested, loudly, and I felt him grin against my breast.

As his mouth surrounded my other nipple, I felt his hand slip in my knickers. This time I couldn't prevent a moan from escaping at the feel of his fingers touching me so intimately. I thrust upwards, seeking more, and tightened my grip in his hair.

He removed his hand, and I whimpered until I realized he was trying to undo his trousers.

"Bedroom?" I suggested, and I saw him glance doubtfully at the ceiling. I was relieved when I saw him shake his head.

"Too… far away," he answered. "Can't… wait… that long."

Good, I thought. Neither could I.

As he was still fumbling with his trousers, I moved his hands away and unfastened them myself. After I pulled them down, I palmed him and then began to stroke. He gasped as his eyes became glassy, and I chuckled.

He reluctantly removed my hand and we rushed to finish undressing. Afterwards, as he leaned over me with his weight resting on his elbows, he met my eyes, a serious expression on his face.

"Rose?"

On the surface he was asking if I was ready, but I knew that deep down he wanted to know if I really wanted to do this. I wondered which one it was who was asking, or if it was both. Or if they even knew that I knew they were both there.

"Yeah," I said, wrapping my leg around his hip and pulling him close. "I'm ready."

"Then allons-y," he said, looking relieved, a crooked grin spreading across his face. I grinned back. Until I felt him press inside.

"Molto bene," he whispered, and I couldn't agree more.

He set a slow pace, quickening only after I urged him, and spoke the entire time we made love, as if with both of him there he had to talk twice as much. He praised and cursed in turn, using English and a variety of other languages, not all human. If I hadn't been so distracted I might have been amused.

By now I had made love to my Doctor countless times. Although it was always passionate, sometimes it was hard, other times tender, sometimes playful, other times intense. More than once it was to comfort one another after a particularly difficult day.

And of course once had been the first time, tentative and emotional and so, so beautiful.

This time was different. Although I knew him, knew his body intimately, knew what he liked and knew what would push him over the edge, he didn't seem to have the same knowledge of me. He was uncertain in his touches instead of sure, careful when I wanted him bold. In many ways it felt like the first time between us. And I realized that for part of him it was.

But it was oh, so good.

I came, hard, barely aware of anything but ecstasy coursing through my body, and as if from a distance I heard him call my name as he quickly followed.

Finally, after it was over, he collapsed on top of me, and I held him tightly as his entire body shook with the aftereffects of his passion.

I tried to catch my breath.

"That was… bloody fantastic," I said between gasps for air.

"I was, wasn't I," he said smugly, and I swatted him.

Arms and legs still entangled, he began to roll us onto our sides, and I stopped him, holding him in place.

"Just stay there for another minute, yeah?" I said. "I like the feel of you on top of me."

He gave me a small, tender smile and rested his forehead on mine, and I felt, just on the very edge of my awareness, _him_. His comforting, loving presence. He didn't really enter my mind, but it was still far more intimate than what we had just done.

Eventually, even though he was trying to keep his weight off of me, he became too heavy for me, and this time when he tried to move us, I let him. He managed to pull the blanket off the floor and cover us, and I snuggled closer to him, burying my nose against his neck. And silently we listened to the crackle of the fire and the rain against the window.


	6. Part Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small part of the dialogue at the end of this chapter is from the epilogue of my story Entanglement.

**Part Six**

Hours later, we sat on the sofa, eating takeaway pizza and drinking a bottle of wine that had been a housewarming present from a friend. In front of us played a movie on telly, but neither of us were really paying attention to it. In fact, we would probably have been hard pressed to come up with the title or even say what it was about.

That afternoon, we had taken a short kip followed by him giving me an absolutely mind-blowing orgasm just using his fingers and tongue, something he seemed to enjoy almost as much as I did. But now the electricity was back on, the rain had slowed, and night had fallen.

After talking all afternoon, he had grown quiet, and I got the sense from him that our time together was growing short. I didn't know what type of arrangement the two Doctors had made, but whatever it had been, it was evidently coming to an end.

We finished dinner and sat back on the sofa, cuddling under the blanket with his arm around me and not particularly watching the movie in front of us. And I again began to worry about him. I knew he was traveling alone, would be going back to a lonely existence, and tears prickled the back of my eyes. I quickly forced my feelings down; I absolutely couldn't let him see me cry. Not only would it upset him, but it would waste our little time left.

Finally the movie ended, and he turned off the television. We sat in silence for several minutes.

"Doctor," I said finally, "are you alright?"

"Yes," he answered. "Why?"

His tone was light, but I knew him too well to be fooled.

"Well, usually you're talking a mile a minute and you've been awfully quiet for a while now. 'S not like you."

He shook his head. "It's nothing." I raised an eyebrow. "Really, it's nothing."

Inwardly I sighed. I hadn't expected an honest answer so I wasn't surprised he didn't give me one, but it would have been good if he had opened up for a change. For his sake.

Well, if he wouldn't talk, I wondered how we should spend our remaining time together. After considering him several more seconds, I began to grin as I remembered something he had said earlier. I stood up and pulled him to his feet and jerked my head towards the stairs.

"C'mon," I said. "I think someone promised to scrub my back."

Once in the bathroom, I turned on the shower for the water to warm and then turned back to face him. He was already breathing hard in anticipation, his eyes almost black with desire, his straining erection clearly visible underneath his trousers. Staring into his eyes, I silently stepped forward until we were mere inches apart, unzipped his trousers, and pulled his pants low enough to free him. With one hand I cupped his balls and with the other I firmly grasped him and slowly began to stroke. He moaned, and I immediately let go.

"Don't want this to be over that quick," I said, grinning at him, and he looked sheepish.

"No, not quite yet," he agreed.

We slowly undressed each other, taking long moments to look at one another's body. My Doctor had told me that he looked virtually identical to how he had before the meta-crisis, and for a moment I imagined that we were in the TARDIS, before the Daleks and Cybermen tore us apart.

But that was a fantasy, and this was real.

I closed the distance between us and he pulled me close, his hands spreading across my back, his erection pressing hard against my stomach. At the feel of him my own desire, which had begun low in my belly even before we had come upstairs, spread like fire to my core and then throughout my body. My heart began to pound hard within my chest. I stood on my tiptoes to kiss him, and he deepened it: lips moving against mine, tongue caressing and exploring the inner recesses of my mouth. I sank against him as I lost myself in it.

Eventually needing to breathe, I reluctantly pulled away. I took his hand, intertwining our fingers, and he followed me into the shower where the wide, round showerhead sent water like a warm rain cascading downward over us.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. He was a handsome man under all circumstances, no matter what he wore, but like this, with water running downward over his nude body, he was gorgeous in a primitive, primal way.

By unspoken agreement he went first. I closed my eyes and dropped my head back as he washed me, loving the feel of his hands, slick with soap, moving in small circles over my body—shoulders and arms, breasts, belly and arse—as the hot water of the shower softly hit my face.

When he was finished, I motioned to him to duck down, and I began by washing his hair, enjoying the sensual pleasure of running my fingers through his thick hair, working the shampoo into a thick lather and then rinsing out. Once the water ran clear, I ran my hands down his sideburns and still-unshaven face, tracing the length of his neck, to his shoulders and lower, finally to lightly scrape my fingernails down his chest.

And then I sank to my knees. And took him into my mouth.

He gasped, loud enough to be heard over the sound of the water falling on the tile floor.

I cupped his balls and slowly sucked his tip, tasting the tangy, slightly salty flavor of him, while using my other hand to stroke and caress his length. He staggered, catching himself with one hand against the wall of the shower stall while resting the other on my head. As I continued his hips moved, tiny movements forward and back as if he was trying to stay still but couldn't help himself. After a moment I could tell he was getting close: his breathing was coming in short pants, the muscles of his abdomen were tightening, and his tiny thrusts were becoming more erratic. He tightened his fingers in the wet strands of my hair and I felt the water shut off.

"Rose," he said.

His voice came out rough, almost pleading, and I released him and looked up.

"Bedroom," he said, entreating me with his eyes as he pulled me to my feet, and I nodded in agreement.

I reached for a towel, and he stopped me, drying me off himself with one of the thick towels from the warming rack, his lips trailing the path the towel had taken. He grabbed a fresh towel for himself, and after he had finished, I reached for his hand. But he didn't take it. Instead he picked me up and took me to bed.

Neither of us spoke as we took the time that we hadn't before, making love slowly and reverently, kissing and caressing every inch of one another. He explored my body with fingers and tongue, seemingly memorizing every inch of me. And I knew he was. It almost brought tears to my eyes, but not for the reason I cried when my Doctor and I first made love. That time had held the joy of the first time; this time I knew was the last with _him._

Afterwards, he held me close as I ran my fingertips through the hair on his chest. The silence, which had at first felt solemn, now felt oppressive. Eventually I couldn't stand it any longer.

"Penny for 'em," I said. Even though I had said it quietly, my voice sounded overloud to my ears.

He didn't answer for a long time, so long in fact that I began to think that he wouldn't.

"Rose, are you… happy with h… with me?" he asked finally.

I swallowed hard. He was still pretending to be my Doctor, still wanting, maybe even needing to believe that I didn't know who he was. I debated whether to tell him flat out that I knew—knew who he was, knew he had been with me all day. Would it help him to know, I wondered, or would it make him hurt more when he left?

I wanted so desperately to tell him.

But I couldn't. I couldn't risk even the possibility causing him any more pain.

"Course I am," I said lightly. Then I turned to him and searched his face. He looked relieved, and I decided to continue to play along. "You are, aren't you? Happy here?"

"Of course I am," he replied. He gave me a small smile. "How could I not be?"

"Good," I said, returning his smile. "You scared me for a minute there." I paused for a moment. "Why do you ask?"

"Well," he began, "I just wasn't sure—things happened so fast—the way… he… left… I know you wanted to go with him at first."

I stared at him in surprise. Of all the things he could have said, that was the last I would have suspected. The man who never looked back, second guessing himself? It was so out of character, him allowing himself to revisit decisions he had already made. Somehow knowing that he was doubting himself to that level hurt almost as much as knowing he was alone.

"We talked about this before," I said carefully. "And I thought you didn't like to talk about him."

"Just humor me," he said.

He obviously needed this for some reason, needed to know from me that he hadn't made a mistake by leaving me here. I could do that, I told myself. At that moment, I would have told him that he had done the right thing even if it had been a lie. But I didn't have to. I could tell him the truth and reassure him at the same time.

I put my head back on his shoulder, not wanting to look him in the face as we talked. And not wanting him to see my eyes fill with tears for him.

"You know I wanted to go with," I said quietly. "And I was so… angry… and hurt… at how he handled things."

"And now?" he asked hesitantly.

"I understand why he did what he did. Still don't agree with it, but I understand," I said. "And I love you. I'm happy here with you. And even if he came back, which I know he can't, you know I'd still stay with you. You offered to spend your life with me, and you gave me a choice. He didn't." As I spoke, I realized I wasn't just speaking to him, I was speaking to both Doctors. All of us, actually.

"But you know I still love him," I continued. "I want him to be happy. I don't want him to be alone." I fell silent for a moment. "Do you think he's happy?"

"Yes," he told me. "I know he misses you, but right now, right this minute, I'm sure he's not alone, and I'm sure he's happy."

I didn't dare look up at him, knowing that if I did, I'd see his eyes glistening, as mine were. Instead I wrapped my arm around him and hugged him tightly.

"Good. I'm glad," I said, happy that for that moment I could be there for him. I stifled a yawn, feeling like my body was trying to betray me. The last thing I wanted to do was sleep. "Sorry."

He kissed the top of my head. "You're tired," he said. "You should get some sleep."

I turned back to him, stricken. He was going to go, I realized. He was just waiting for me to be asleep before he left. I lifted up and kissed him, trying to express everything I felt for him, everything I had ever felt for him in it.

It was over far too soon.

"I love you, you know," I said. Please know that, I thought. Please always remember it.

"I know," he said. "Me too."

I smiled at him before rolling over to face the other direction. I knew he had to leave, but there was no way I could watch him go. He wrapped an arm around me and pulled me backwards, spooning me, and then kissed my shoulder.

"Goodbye, Doctor," I whispered before I could stop myself.

"What… what did you say?" he asked.

I could have kicked myself.

"Said g'night," I lied. "What 'cha think I said?"

"Just that," he whispered. "Goodnight, Rose."

I relaxed in his embrace, lying there just feeling him hold me and listening to him breathe. I was tired, but there was no way I could sleep, no way I would let myself miss one more second of his time here.

Eventually I felt him gently kiss my hair and heard him whisper, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. It did need saying. I should have said it long ago. And if it's my last chance to say it, Rose Tyler, I love you."

And then he was gone.

I felt it the instant he left, the instant my Doctor returned, in the way he held me, squeezing me gently.

The tears that had repeatedly threatened began to fall and this time I let them.

We didn't talk about it, the fact that he had let the other Doctor use his body, the fact that they had tried to keep it from me, the fact that I knew, had known all along. What was there to say? Instead, my Doctor turned me towards him and held me as I sobbed.

Physically and emotionally exhausted, I eventually fell into a deep sleep.

And awoke to the bed shaking and my Doctor crying out in pain.

I scrambled to sit up, trying to figure out what was going on. "What? What is it?"

Panting, he turned and stared at me wild eyed, hair sticking up every which way, pain in his hand and arm reflected clearly in his face. 

"Oh, Rose," he whispered. "He did something bad."

And I held him as he told me about his dream about Mars.


End file.
